Previously…

Priscilla has an existential crisis and then discovers the Fellowship is missing two shorter, furrier members. It's also gained two untrusting Elves.

Chapter Four: Neurolyser

(In which our Intrepid Heroine convinces men to follow her and bumps into a wizard.)

You can't force someone to trust you. Or believe you. Or anything, really. You can't look into someone's eyes and magically convince them you're telling the truth—or maybe you can, if you're an evil wizard with a skunk-beard. But I'm not, so I can't. And making someone believe you is one of the hardest things in the world to do, especially if the people in question have zero inclination to trust you.

My mom taught me and my siblings not to lie, among many other things. She's old fashioned, and was completely unafraid to give us a licking to make her point, and one of the things she drilled into us was thou shalt not lie. My father, on the other hand, was a little more open minded.

"Don't lie about anything big," he told me once, while he was fixing his tractor. "but some things are all right to keep to yourself."

"Like what?" I had asked, handing him a socket wrench.

He looked at the wrench, put it back, and picked up the right one. "Well, see, if your momma asks me if she looks good in her new blouse, of course you say yes. Your momma doesn't want to hear what I think, she just wants to hear me say she looks beautiful. And I don't really want to know how much it cost, so I don't ask. That way, she can pretend she looks good and I can pretend the blouse was cheap, but really we know differently."

I had spit my chewing gum out and decided that if I ever had a wife, I would tell her what she looked like regardless of any new blouses. (I was very much a tomboy when I was a kid.) But I knew what he meant.

So when Aragorn winced and pressed his hand against his side, and I saw the deep scrape along his jaw, I realized that he didn't really want the truth. He didn't want to know how much the blouse cost. There are times in life that require you to…fudge a little, if only to make it seem like you had some semblance of control.

But I had no control. I had no idea. And if I admitted that, I would get shipped off to some destitute little shack in the middle of nowhere, presumably where Haldir would sit on me until the War was over or everyone died, whichever came first. I could see it written all over Aragorn's face—I needed to convince him I wasn't some idiot bungling up the story, that I had a direction and a purpose and a reason.

"I have been having visions," I said quickly, "about the fate of Middle Earth and my part in it. I discussed them with Elrond and he advised me to go to Galadriel, who said I should warn the Fellowship. There would be heavy forces at Amon Hen, which…you obviously know about."

"Two Dwarves," Legolas said roughly, and my eyes flew to his—he was looking at me with such striking coldness I shrank back. "Two Dwarves, good Dwarves, lost in that battle, and you could not warn us about the army waiting for us along our journey? You had no visions concerning Gandalf and his fall?"

"About Mithrandir –" I began, but Legolas cut me off, jabbing his bow towards me.

"Three days! Three days of hunting and tracking and seeing fresh blood split upon the ground, not knowing whether the fate of all Middle Earth had been ruined thanks to a mad whelp who believes she is a Seer! You arrive too late, do not warn us of the oncoming troops, and get captured along with the Ringbearer—"

"Miss Cilla was very brave!" a voice piped up, and every head turned towards Sam. His cheeks reddened but he continued on resolutely. "She kept the Orcs from eating us, and she tried to slow them up so you could find us, that's how she got so injured!"

Grateful words stuck in my throat and I looked towards Sam with my eyes starting to burn. I hadn't told him my plan of trying to slow down the Uruk-hai, but evidently he guessed at my intentions; my short-lived, ill-fated attack on the Uruk carrying me had been out of the blue, and the whole procession had stopped, if only for a brief moment.

"You cannot blame the girl for not warning us in time," Boromir rasped, sounding exhausted, "they caught us all unawares, Legolas."

The slender Elf glared at me hotly, and I lowered my gaze instantly. I was not up for a staring contest with a furious Elf, who was grieving and looking to lash out. I had underestimated his bond with Gimli, and apparently Glóin—while I was living with Elrond, he had told me that Elves could die of broken hearts. They simply faded away. I did not see a withdrawn, fading being, but a deeply wounded creature that had little time to process what he was feeling. Grief is easy to dissect when you're not experiencing it.

"Please," I began, "you must listen to me. Strider, you know I am telling the truth, I am not from this world—you were the one who first found me, first brought me to Mithrandir. You know I speak no lies. I can help you, let me help you. I have visions of the future, I bring tidings of victory, but things must happen in a certain order."

Haldir folded his arms. "I will follow my orders, Lady Cilla, and I will transport you safely to Gondor. Visions or no visions."

"Before Gondor, we must go to Fangorn Forest," I said firmly.

Instantly, the whole group reacted bitterly. Boromir looked at me with a mixture of alarm and trepidation, and Legolas scoffed aloud. "What? A cursed forest, close to where the Wizard walks? Oh, Glóin was right, you are nothing but a spy for Saruman!"

"No!" I protested. "No, I swear it on my life, I am not leading you astray! Mithrandir is going to be reborn, and that is where we will find him, walking among the forests of old, in a mantle of white!"

I was still complimenting myself for the almost poetic-sounding prophecy, when Frodo spoke up. "You told me that," he said, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes, "while we were in the river. Just before we reached the other side, you said that Merry and Pippin were in Rohan, and Gandalf was going to be reborn as Gandalf the White."

"Yes! Yes, I told you that!" I said gratefully, my head starting to throb. Oh, God, I was starting to get a headache.

"You must go then," Frodo said immediately. "And…and tell him I wish him well."

Aragorn looked down at the little Hobbit. "We are going with you, of course, Master Frodo."

The dark curly head shook vehemently. "No. I know now…my journey must be completed alone. I am…it is too much of a temptation, too much of a burden."

Boromir and I both looked away and cringed in unison.

Sam put a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "You're not a burden, Mister Frodo," he said quietly.

"He must go alone," I said, although my headache was starting to make me rethink that. Wouldn't it be safer if the whole company went to Mount Doom? Of course it would be. "Frodo and Sam must complete the journey on their own."

And wouldn't it make more sense still to have the whole company there to share in the Ring? So none of us would get too tempted, we would all take turns…

Once it was your turn, you could just—

"Please," I said, my head feeling like it was going to split in two, "please, please, please believe me, we must travel to Fangorn Forest, and Frodo and Sam must leave for Mount Doom! I cannot…I cannot…"

I can't do this!

I squeezed my eyes shut.

When the pain subsided, I opened them again, and I saw Aragorn gravely shaking Frodo's hand. "I do not wish for your quest, little master," he said softly. "And I wish you the best of luck. May the Valar bless you." He added something in Elvish, something which I didn't understand.

The two little Hobbits made their goodbyes, but it felt stiff and surreal—when Sam hugged me tightly around the middle I could barely manage a "Good luck," and a quick "I'll pray for you," in English. My headache wasn't subsiding, if anything it was increasing, and I wanted to curl up in a dark room and breathe slowly until it was over.

"We need to…" I tried, but my mouth was going dry. "…go to Fangorn Forest."

Aragorn eyed me, his steel-colored eyes running over my face. "Not tonight. Tonight, we rest. We will discuss what to do in the morning. We have no horses, and no ready way of getting to the Forest."

"We should not go to the forest on the request of a mad girl," Legolas snapped.

"You must trust me," I said fiercely, resisting the urge to squeeze my temples between my hands, "If we go to Fangorn and Mithrandir is not there, abandon me there, and go where you will. I will not keep you."

"If we go to that forest, and Mithrandir is not there, I will put an arrow between your shoulders, Seer," Legolas seethed. "Glóin was convinced you were a spy of Saruman, and at first I disbelieved him, but now I cannot believe your audacity!"

"Legolas!" Aragorn barked, "Enough! We are all tired, we are all injured, let us rest and discuss what we should do tomorrow."

My headache began to lessen once Frodo and Sam departed, and I could no longer feel the deep throb from the Ring.

It was hard to correlate Legolas, the odd, sleek, snooty fey Elf I had seen back at Lord Elrond's house, with the dark, bitter, sour Prince he was now. He had been so eager to go on the quest, so arrogant and self-confident. Now, even with his grief and his anger, he looked much smaller than an Elf should look. Less pretty and ephemeral, and much sharper—he felt like he had staying power. It's kind of hard to describe.

They were all so different. There was something lighter about Aragorn, something I couldn't put my finger on, a kind of softness about him that seemed to contrast the character he was in my mind. Boromir, on the other hand, mostly kept his mouth shut, but he kept glancing at me with questions in his eyes, questions I didn't know how to discern. They were all so hard to read. I had never been a very good people reader to begin with, but I needed to make an effort now. I needed them to trust me.

Legolas was obviously against trusting me at all, but Boromir and Aragorn were more open-minded. Haldir was no help, insisting that he had orders, and those orders were to transport me safely to Gondor.

"Like it or not you are a part of this, now," I had told him the next morning, the five of us seated in the grass and pretending we had a fire to warm us. "If you wish to leave, you may. But your orders were to transport me safely to Gondor, and I am not going to Gondor until I speak with Mithrandir."

"If I have to bind you hand and foot and carry you to Gondor, I will," Haldir said smoothly, "for I follow the orders of my Lady, and not those of a pretentious little girl."

That, obviously, did not go over well, and the idea of being tied up again made me nauseous. Surprisingly, my greatest ally was in Aragorn, who came to my aid. "Going to Gondor instantly would not be wise. I suggest we travel on to Edoras and procure horses, to make the travel shorter. I also wish to speak with King Théoden, to warn him about the nature of his neighbor, Saruman."

"King Théoden is not in his right mind," I argued, "he has been poisoned for months by the words of his advisor, Grima Wormtongue, who is an ally of Saruman. We need Mithrandir, only he can drive out Saruman's influence."

The whole group looked at me, unsettled. I licked my lips quickly. "I have many visions, and not all of them I understand, but I know we need Mithrandir. We need to find him, and I know where to start looking."

"You said once, when we first met you," Legolas said slowly, finally looking at me, "that I would befriend Gimli. You said we would be the bridge between two races. You also said that Boromir would die at Amon Hen, and yet he stands before you, alive."

I glanced at Boromir, who was looking at me with raised eyebrows. "Not…not all of my visions come to pass," I said, fumbling a little, "They are hard to explain, hard to rationalize. You did befriend Gimli, did you not?"

"Glóin," Legolas corrected flatly. "I have nothing against his son, but it is the father I mourn."

What do you say to that? I swallowed. "I…I truly am sorry to have put you through the pain of losing a friend," I began, "but I cannot feel sorry that Boromir is alive. And my visions are not the future. They are shadows of what may or what will come, and I have been trying to discern between the two."

I was fibbing. I wasn't a Seer—I had roughly half an idea of what to do, and that involved finding the oldest and wisest being I could get. I didn't have visions, unless you counted the odd, backwashed dreams I couldn't really remember, besides falling and bright gold eyes. But it was a necessary fib. I could get this story back on track.

Aragorn broke the silence. "We should make for Fangorn at first light."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head, and he got her a drink, then sent her to bed.

It wasn't even Christmas and I was turning Grinchier by the second.

The forest around us was old and damp, full of thick sticky spiderwebs and odd, eerie dripping noises. Creaks and groans filled the air, and slippery moss hung from the trees and crawled along the roots. Clumps of black mushrooms grew sporadically, and I could have sworn I saw luminescent bluebells that glowed in the darkness; the whole place reminded me of the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean. The air around us grew thicker and muggier, and as we made our way through the forest it seemed to actively repel us. Branches clawed at our faces, roots seemed to spring up underfoot, and bugs began to swarm around us, getting into our mouths and eyes.

Boromir tripped over a tree root and groaned in pain, holding a hand to his ribs. It had been such slow going, traveling towards the black smudge of forest on the horizon, but I had been grateful for the pace. My broken bones hadn't healed much, and my nose still reminded me that I looked like a pug every time I drew breath. The traveling had been tense and silent, obviously the four of them against me. I could tell Aragorn wanted to believe me, and so did Boromir, I suppose, but the Elves weren't convinced.

I gave Boromir a hand up. "This place is spooky," I muttered.

"It is old, and does not like visitors," Haldir said as he stepped around the two of us. Boromir and I exchanged weary glances and resumed traveling.

After a bit of silence, Boromir said, "I never thanked you."

I ducked under a tree branch that suddenly sprang into my vision, and wiped spider webs off my forehead. "For what?" I asked.

"You were the one who tended to my wounds when I first arrived at Rivendell, were you not?" Boromir asked.

It took me a moment, but then I remembered. "Oh. Oh."

That had been one of the more…absurd moments, of my time in Middle Earth—bathing a half-frozen Boromir while Elves raged around in the forest and looked for missing Hobbits. It had also been one of the most embarrassing moments in my life, and I could feel myself blushing scarlet just remembering. (Incidentally, it had been my first experience with chest hair.)

"Well, yes," I mumbled, "think nothing of it." Please, I mentally begged him, don't ever mention that again.

"I wish to thank you, regardless of how small a service you say it was," Boromir said, and patted my shoulder somewhat awkwardly.

Without thinking I flinched away from him. I don't know why—maybe because it was unexpected, maybe because I was still embarrassed, but all of a sudden I didn't want anyone touching me. I sped up and slipped on a patch of slick moss, but managed to stay upright. Still flushed, my cheeks prickling, I hurried to join Legolas and Aragorn, who were just ahead.

My scalp started to prickle as well. And then down my spine. I shivered.

Static crackled over my skin and something triggered. I knew what that was—it was how I felt whenever I came into contact with magic. Real magic, the kind that swarmed around Galadriel and Gandalf and Saruman.

Abruptly I swerved, turning right, bumbling through the thick trees. "Cilla!" a voice called warningly—it sounded like Haldir.

Part of me knew that if I took off without warning, Legolas would assume I was leading them into a trap and shoot me in the blink of an eye. "Just a second," I called back, a little garbled, mostly because I had forgotten the Westron word for second.

The static feeling increased, and I went still.

A very deep, very pure, almost lovely voice reached out. "Priscilla."

I turned around.

White.

"Be still. Let me cleanse you."

White.

There was a flash in my mind's eye, something burning and orange and angry, something huge and vicious and it was going to make my head explode –

Fight back, servant!

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Fun fact: the Neurolyser, also spelled neurolyzer, is not just for erasing memories, like in the movies. In the comics it was used more for manipulation, control, and hypnosis. Puzzle on that, my lovelies.

[Twelve reviews received]

Special thanks to: Daeril Ullothwen, CassowaryQueen, Rosezelene Ersa, Kernigh, inspibrain101, Yuki Suou, DragonOwl, SilverMoonrise, FranticHamster, Memento Mori-Pontifex Mortis, NiennaxAncalime, and Darkheart Du Lac.

Odd note before we start celebrating: You wonderful readers choose some very interesting names. I think this every time I write all of your names out, I mean to say this, but I keep forgetting. ^^

Okay, now for celebrating time!

THREE. HUNDRED.

SPARTAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

Three hundred reviews! How did we get here? By you guys being crazy awesome, that's how! I'm so excited for this story, for where it's going and where it's been. We're coming up on its one-year birthday, I need to think of something super-special to do for a birthday gift for you guys. It's so exciting! It's so wonderful! It's so…just so, so, so AWESOME!